 |
| "A GOOD HANGING - ALWAYS A GREAT CROWD PLEASER! |
4: “GRAVEYARD GOSSIP.”
With Maude and Max in tow, Larde and I returned to the Jewish Cemetery - the place was in uproar! After Larde had thumped Mog to gain entry, we joined the crowd by the gates, and several were crying, whilst others were shouting obscenities and waving fists at no one in particular, strangely Mr. Angry sat quietly on a nearby Tombstone, looking sad in that fetching little pink number, he looked at us and said: "We're buggered." With no emotion in his voice whatsoever - very strange!
Ruth was wiping away tears and looking quite frightened, Maude gave her a reassuring hug and she seemed a little happier.
The 'Old Gentleman' was having a heated discussion with Rabbi Samuel Jones (1798 - 1828) - now the Rabbi was an odd character, he was Jewish ('Well, that's bloody obvious' - said Maude shaking her lovely head, 'Tell the readers something useful, you bogging dirt bag') of Welsh and German origin, he had arrived in Scotland just days before he passed over.
He had fled his home country of Saxony after a little misunderstanding regarding the local Mayor's twin daughters and exactly how far one can go when teaching two eighteen year olds the facts of life. Apparently a large angry mob carrying pitchforks and several nooses swayed his decision to leave and head for pastures anew - and the first boat leaving was heading for Scotland.
Thus he arrived in Scotland, and being unfamiliar with local customs, he tried to hitch a ride with a nice couple of gentlemen called Burke & Hare, who didn't hesitate to offer him a lift in their dark carriage - they received nearly £5 for him - after they strangled him with his Tallit.
There is a strong rumour that it was his untimely death that led to the capture of the notorious pair of body snatchers, since they rummaged through his belongs and thought his clothes were too good to sell, and both being of his build, wore them around Edinburgh. The twats stood out like sore thumbs and since everyone knew they weren't even Jewish, never mind Rabbi's, they came to the attention of the local authority: Captain Ferguson McFerguson (his parents clearly had no imagination...) the Head of the local Militia, whilst not the most clever of men, he soon worked out that something was not quite right and arrested the pair.
At first they denied the charges, but the Rabbi who was a careful man, had sewn his name onto his underpants and socks. The Crown Prosecuting QC – Sir Henry Barker-Bellend (1764 – 1833) produced damning evidence of their guilt such as two pairs of black socks, complete with holes, “Who in their right mind would give away his socks and NOT remove his name?” He let the Jury examine the exhibits closely, well not too closely - they hadn't been washed for weeks!
“These socks were removed by force from their rightful owner and this pair (pointing out Burke & Hare chained in the Dock) are the culprits, for no man surrenders his underwear unless dead!”
The Defending QC (Mr. Winston Umkedeo, (? - 1834) newly arrived from the African Colonies and a former used Coconut Salesman, had earned his Law degree from the Catholic Nuns in his village – his only other case to date, was defending a deaf mute against allegations of Lewd singing and eavesdropping, he lost and the poor fellow was transported to Australia for his heinous crimes. He never stood a chance, faced with such a formidable performance by a Lawyer at the peak of his profession.
He told Burke & Hare to change their plea to guilty and receive a lesser sentence – just hanging and not hanging, disembowelment and a forced bath.
They reluctantly agreed, the idea of a hot bath terrified the evil pair beyond words and they were sentenced to death for stealing the socks and underpants and two years hard labour for murdering the Rabbi.
Anti-Semitism was rife in those days..
They were hung for their crimes, and rather strangely, a local Rabbi who didn't know better, prayed, as they swung in the breeze, and in a lovely twist of irony, both ended up on the slab being dissected in front of an appreciative audience of Jewish Doctors.
The other odd thing with the Rabbi is he's language, I don't mean his Welsh/German Accent (!) I mean he's noted, even famed, for his profanity – he uses language that would make a Turkish brothel keeper blush.
Old ship's Captain Joseph P. Ruben (1768 - 1831) declared that in forty years at sea, he had never heard such profanity - apart from, his wife, who was from an Irish/Jewish family. Such is the Rabbi's ability to swear, he's acquired the nickname: 'The Rabid Rabbi' - death does that to you, takes a perfectly nice person and turns them into a 'Chubby Brown' for Jane Austin fans....
Though, of course, there are rumours about the respectable sea captain, many say he was in fact, a Pirate and Slaver, who shipped the poor wretches from Africa to the plantations of Southern America and plundered ships around the south Atlantic.
It's also been noted that should a so-called respectable Merchant Captain have a large tattoo of the Devil on his torso and Skull & Crossbones drawn on both cheeks of his arse?
But all I know is that he plays cards with Larde and the pair drink and cuss, and if he wins anything from Larde, he gets beaten up by the loser.
"Skip the bogging GRAVEYARD GOSSIP Tom and tell the readers what's happening!" Maude rolled her eyes and gave me a stare that could melt steel. But she's right, I've gone off track here, so back to the heated discussions between the residents and why they are gathered at the gates.
Just by the large rusty padlock on the gate was a sign saying "KEEP OUT", and next to that, the official notification from the local council about the new bypass for the Motorway. The Rabbi was shouting, his face contorted in anger and frustration, "F**king b*****ds!, they're going to cover us with that black stinking stuff, the pig eating, uncircumcised f**k rats!"
The 'Old Gentleman' was trying to make himself heard above the clamour, but with his high, reedy little voice, he wasn't being very successful, so he took to prodding people with his walking stick, in an effort to partake in the discussions. He, unfortunately, poked the wrong person - I understand that he can now sit down without his eyes watering - Dr. Solomon Caper (1812 - 1891) did a good job removing the cane from where Larde had placed it.
Finally, some order was restored by Maude throwing stones and shouting at everyone: "Quiet! You dead shit heads! - listen to Tom, he has a plan!"
I had come up with a plan that was generally accepted - except by the Rabbi, who glared at me and spoke with a tremor in his voice " May God f******g go with you, you useless f****r!"
What was my plan? We would send out a couple of search parties and locate The Angel who was responsible for this domain, if anyone could help us poor dead twats from being covered with tar, it would be him.... or her, as Maude pointed out with a stone bounced off my apparently sexist head - oh, and she threw some extra one's at Larde for good measure and not to show favouritism.
So here we are, camped around the cemetery gates, and nearly everyone is here, and the air is thick with talk of violence, protest, hope and farts.
Yes, my dear reader - farts! Old Wallace Shezwick (1804 - 1892) is one of the nicest dead people you could ever meet, he's polite, quiet spoken and will listen with interest to anything you say and sympathise with your problems, yes, a real gentleman - except that he has one disturbing habit - he farts, no matter where he is, or who his with, he farts - not just a little bum burp, but monsters, like thunder cracking and the smell has been known to make grown men faint and Angels vomit.
He could be in the middle of a conversation, when he suddenly lifts his leg and lets one rip, people will run, push old grannies out the way as if the Devil himself had made a personal appearance - then simply carry on the discussion (if anyone has the courage or enough blocked sinus's to remain) as if nothing happened.
Everyone wondered why the nice old boy hadn't been collected - but I believe there are no collectors without a sense of smell........
Strangely enough, Wallace was sitting quietly by himself, in a lonely corner of the cemetery, wondering when the meeting would start.
So it had been decided, I would lead one of the search parties and the 'Old Gentleman' would take command of the other (he had managed to get permission from his wife to stay out for more than an hour) the mission appears simple enough - find the Angel in charge and see if he can help before those bloody lifer's cover us with tarmac and we spend eternity with traffic passing over head.
What utter shitheads! - If it was one of their relatives, do you think they would treat them like garbage?
Our task appeared to have been made a lot easier when Lily appeared, I asked her about the Angel In Charge and where can we find him - I should have known better.........
Lily looked me up and down with some curiosity and said: "... and you are?"
After explaining everything again, Lily smiled "Well George, his picture hangs in the guides office, a fine looking fellow and one of God's right hands (odd, I didn't think God would have more than two hands, but then he's God and can have as many as he wants I suppose) but his actual address is a bit tricky, I'll have to make a few enquiries with the local Collectors office, they will know more about it."
Lily was sad that Norman wasn't around to fuss over and was gone - come to think of it, where was Norman?
I hadn't seen him since we all returned home, Larde shrugged his shoulders and began searching the grounds with Max, whilst I shouted his name into the gathering gloom of night - I discovered that there were three Norman's buried in the cemetery and they weren't happy about being disturbed - miserable dickheads!
It had been agreed to set up ‘Command H.Q.’ in Alwyn Trundles - Booth (1866 – 1915) family crypt, and since most of them had been collected, it had plenty of room, his daughter Rosemary Trundles - Booth (1890 – 1915) agreed to be office manager, with young Ruth Thudstein as her assistant. The crypt itself was considered strange, since it actually resembled the inside of a house, complete with fireplaces and doorways that went nowhere!
Now the Trundles were also considered a strange pair, the crypt held over twenty sets of remains, and every one had been collected, save Alwyn and Rosemary.
Alwyn and Rosemary said very little about how they passed over at the same time, in fact, they said nothing about it unless asked outright, then only a few words of regret and sorrow about passing over.
But rumours circulating the graveyard were not kind to the pair and I understand that both died in strange, almost bizarre, circumstances: they were found shot and strangled in the same bed!
The story that some crazed soldier, who had received head injuries at the Battle of Loo’s and was home on sick leave, murdered the pair is the accepted version. The fact that the young soldier was Rosemary’s finance and he had returned home unannounced, is also mentioned by some.
They were the last internments in that crypt, and despite being large enough for several more residents, the remaining family closed it up after their burials and built a new mausoleum in another cemetery.
Yes, they were a very close pair, even in death. The other strange detail is that Rosemary was buried stark naked! It was most odd; she was interred with absolutely nothing on or in the coffin, apart from one old army boot!
Whenever Larde meets them, he whistles ‘Daddy’s Girl’.
Even the normally moderate Dr. Solomon Caper makes reference to the pair’s history, he sings: ‘Thank heaven for little girls’ - whenever he meets old Alwyn.
Rosemary was certainly a sight around the graveyard, not that it mattered to the good people of the cemetery, most were familiar to strange sights in the afterlife.
I think the 'old gentleman' has taken a liking to Rosemary (when his wife is not about!) and has a real gleam in his eyes, when she wanders around the place. He always raises his hat to her and I think he would really like to 'raise' something else - if he could manage it!
But it was time to set off and my little expedition group was saying it's farewell's - everyone wished us well, except Mog who said simply "Piss off!" and of course, the Rabbi, who told me quietly and to one side, that I was: "A f*****g whore's spawn b******d son of Satan himself and a f*****g wanker who will come to horrific end, You f*****g snivelling piece of dog excrement - oh, and good luck, please don't be a stranger."
I didn't like the way he licked his lips and rolled his eyes, He looked at me in the same way Bernard Matthews viewed turkeys, and I seriously think he may have mental health problems or hasn't been laid in a long time...
I had decided to head for the local Dead Centre which was located in the City Square, in the basement of the Lifer's Town Hall and see if they had the Angel on the local 'Register Of Souls' - a sort of Electoral Roll for the deceased.
Well, it was a start, and I could ask if one, maybe, could change 'Spirit-Guides'..... Despite being dead, you can always hope!
The 'Old Gentleman' was also setting off with the other thirty volunteers, who had joined his party, and still had another seventy-four in reserve - did they know something we didn't?
Old Wallace Shezwick was coming with us, but it slipped our minds to tell him.
Maude bounced a stone of my head and stated that I was: ‘just bogging rotten’ – but at least she could remove the peg from her nose in complete safety.
I must sign off now - But remember what the great Oscar Wilde said about gossip: "The only thing worse in the world than being talked about is not being talked about."
No. 4 OF 'A SKELETON'S LIFE SERIES:
Copyright © 2011-2021 Stephen Williams. No reproduction of any part without permission.
With Maude and Max in tow, Larde and I returned to the Jewish Cemetery - the place was in uproar! After Larde had thumped Mog to gain entry, we joined the crowd by the gates, and several were crying, whilst others were shouting obscenities and waving fists at no one in particular, strangely Mr. Angry sat quietly on a nearby Tombstone, looking sad in that fetching little pink number, he looked at us and said: "We're buggered." With no emotion in his voice whatsoever - very strange!
Ruth was wiping away tears and looking quite frightened, Maude gave her a reassuring hug and she seemed a little happier.
The 'Old Gentleman' was having a heated discussion with Rabbi Samuel Jones (1798 - 1828) - now the Rabbi was an odd character, he was Jewish ('Well, that's bloody obvious' - said Maude shaking her lovely head, 'Tell the readers something useful, you bogging dirt bag') of Welsh and German origin, he had arrived in Scotland just days before he passed over.
 |
| "OH RABBI - YOUR SO KIND TO SHOW US A PRACTICAL DEMONSTRATION!" |
 |
| THE RABBI: "BUGGER THIS, TIME TO GO I THINK!" |
There is a strong rumour that it was his untimely death that led to the capture of the notorious pair of body snatchers, since they rummaged through his belongs and thought his clothes were too good to sell, and both being of his build, wore them around Edinburgh. The twats stood out like sore thumbs and since everyone knew they weren't even Jewish, never mind Rabbi's, they came to the attention of the local authority: Captain Ferguson McFerguson (his parents clearly had no imagination...) the Head of the local Militia, whilst not the most clever of men, he soon worked out that something was not quite right and arrested the pair.
At first they denied the charges, but the Rabbi who was a careful man, had sewn his name onto his underpants and socks. The Crown Prosecuting QC – Sir Henry Barker-Bellend (1764 – 1833) produced damning evidence of their guilt such as two pairs of black socks, complete with holes, “Who in their right mind would give away his socks and NOT remove his name?” He let the Jury examine the exhibits closely, well not too closely - they hadn't been washed for weeks!
“These socks were removed by force from their rightful owner and this pair (pointing out Burke & Hare chained in the Dock) are the culprits, for no man surrenders his underwear unless dead!”
The soiled underpants clinched it for the Crown, When Sir Henry Barker-Bellend held them aloft in the hushed Courtroom, he exclaimed in a trembling voice: “Underpants never lie!”
 |
| "I JUST BORROWED THEM........" |
They reluctantly agreed, the idea of a hot bath terrified the evil pair beyond words and they were sentenced to death for stealing the socks and underpants and two years hard labour for murdering the Rabbi.
Anti-Semitism was rife in those days..
They were hung for their crimes, and rather strangely, a local Rabbi who didn't know better, prayed, as they swung in the breeze, and in a lovely twist of irony, both ended up on the slab being dissected in front of an appreciative audience of Jewish Doctors.
The other odd thing with the Rabbi is he's language, I don't mean his Welsh/German Accent (!) I mean he's noted, even famed, for his profanity – he uses language that would make a Turkish brothel keeper blush.
 |
| "MY EARS ARE MUCH OFFENDED!" |
Though, of course, there are rumours about the respectable sea captain, many say he was in fact, a Pirate and Slaver, who shipped the poor wretches from Africa to the plantations of Southern America and plundered ships around the south Atlantic.
It's also been noted that should a so-called respectable Merchant Captain have a large tattoo of the Devil on his torso and Skull & Crossbones drawn on both cheeks of his arse?
But all I know is that he plays cards with Larde and the pair drink and cuss, and if he wins anything from Larde, he gets beaten up by the loser.
 |
| "I WANT MY FUCKING MONEY BACK LARDE!" |
Just by the large rusty padlock on the gate was a sign saying "KEEP OUT", and next to that, the official notification from the local council about the new bypass for the Motorway. The Rabbi was shouting, his face contorted in anger and frustration, "F**king b*****ds!, they're going to cover us with that black stinking stuff, the pig eating, uncircumcised f**k rats!"
“For
the well-being of the more sensitive readers, I have censored the worse of the
language!”
The
Ghost Writer.
Finally, some order was restored by Maude throwing stones and shouting at everyone: "Quiet! You dead shit heads! - listen to Tom, he has a plan!"
I had come up with a plan that was generally accepted - except by the Rabbi, who glared at me and spoke with a tremor in his voice " May God f******g go with you, you useless f****r!"
What was my plan? We would send out a couple of search parties and locate The Angel who was responsible for this domain, if anyone could help us poor dead twats from being covered with tar, it would be him.... or her, as Maude pointed out with a stone bounced off my apparently sexist head - oh, and she threw some extra one's at Larde for good measure and not to show favouritism.
So here we are, camped around the cemetery gates, and nearly everyone is here, and the air is thick with talk of violence, protest, hope and farts.
Yes, my dear reader - farts! Old Wallace Shezwick (1804 - 1892) is one of the nicest dead people you could ever meet, he's polite, quiet spoken and will listen with interest to anything you say and sympathise with your problems, yes, a real gentleman - except that he has one disturbing habit - he farts, no matter where he is, or who his with, he farts - not just a little bum burp, but monsters, like thunder cracking and the smell has been known to make grown men faint and Angels vomit.
 |
| "GOOD MORNING MR. SHEZWICK!" |
Everyone wondered why the nice old boy hadn't been collected - but I believe there are no collectors without a sense of smell........
Strangely enough, Wallace was sitting quietly by himself, in a lonely corner of the cemetery, wondering when the meeting would start.
So it had been decided, I would lead one of the search parties and the 'Old Gentleman' would take command of the other (he had managed to get permission from his wife to stay out for more than an hour) the mission appears simple enough - find the Angel in charge and see if he can help before those bloody lifer's cover us with tarmac and we spend eternity with traffic passing over head.
 |
| "BEFORE." |
 |
| "AFTER!" |
This place may be a dump – But its home!
Maude had discovered a 'rumour' circulating the graveyard, that the 'Lifer's' would dig us back up and move the remains to a new cemetery – next to the landfill site!What utter shitheads! - If it was one of their relatives, do you think they would treat them like garbage?
Our task appeared to have been made a lot easier when Lily appeared, I asked her about the Angel In Charge and where can we find him - I should have known better.........
 |
| "I'M SORRY..........AND YOU ARE?" |
After explaining everything again, Lily smiled "Well George, his picture hangs in the guides office, a fine looking fellow and one of God's right hands (odd, I didn't think God would have more than two hands, but then he's God and can have as many as he wants I suppose) but his actual address is a bit tricky, I'll have to make a few enquiries with the local Collectors office, they will know more about it."
Lily was sad that Norman wasn't around to fuss over and was gone - come to think of it, where was Norman?
I hadn't seen him since we all returned home, Larde shrugged his shoulders and began searching the grounds with Max, whilst I shouted his name into the gathering gloom of night - I discovered that there were three Norman's buried in the cemetery and they weren't happy about being disturbed - miserable dickheads!
It had been agreed to set up ‘Command H.Q.’ in Alwyn Trundles - Booth (1866 – 1915) family crypt, and since most of them had been collected, it had plenty of room, his daughter Rosemary Trundles - Booth (1890 – 1915) agreed to be office manager, with young Ruth Thudstein as her assistant. The crypt itself was considered strange, since it actually resembled the inside of a house, complete with fireplaces and doorways that went nowhere!
Now the Trundles were also considered a strange pair, the crypt held over twenty sets of remains, and every one had been collected, save Alwyn and Rosemary.
The family were noted for its gifts to charity, helping the destitute and homeless and being deeply religious – little surprise that most had been collected at their point of departure.
But rumours circulating the graveyard were not kind to the pair and I understand that both died in strange, almost bizarre, circumstances: they were found shot and strangled in the same bed!
The story that some crazed soldier, who had received head injuries at the Battle of Loo’s and was home on sick leave, murdered the pair is the accepted version. The fact that the young soldier was Rosemary’s finance and he had returned home unannounced, is also mentioned by some.
They were the last internments in that crypt, and despite being large enough for several more residents, the remaining family closed it up after their burials and built a new mausoleum in another cemetery.
 |
| "IS THAT YOU DADDY DEAR!" |
Whenever Larde meets them, he whistles ‘Daddy’s Girl’.
Even the normally moderate Dr. Solomon Caper makes reference to the pair’s history, he sings: ‘Thank heaven for little girls’ - whenever he meets old Alwyn.
Rosemary was certainly a sight around the graveyard, not that it mattered to the good people of the cemetery, most were familiar to strange sights in the afterlife.
I think the 'old gentleman' has taken a liking to Rosemary (when his wife is not about!) and has a real gleam in his eyes, when she wanders around the place. He always raises his hat to her and I think he would really like to 'raise' something else - if he could manage it!
But it was time to set off and my little expedition group was saying it's farewell's - everyone wished us well, except Mog who said simply "Piss off!" and of course, the Rabbi, who told me quietly and to one side, that I was: "A f*****g whore's spawn b******d son of Satan himself and a f*****g wanker who will come to horrific end, You f*****g snivelling piece of dog excrement - oh, and good luck, please don't be a stranger."
I didn't like the way he licked his lips and rolled his eyes, He looked at me in the same way Bernard Matthews viewed turkeys, and I seriously think he may have mental health problems or hasn't been laid in a long time...
Thus we set off, with me leading the determined adventurers, consisting of Larde, Maude and Max, I was confident that Norman would soon pick up our scent (how could he miss the stench given off by Larde!) and join our happy band.
Well, it was a start, and I could ask if one, maybe, could change 'Spirit-Guides'..... Despite being dead, you can always hope!
The 'Old Gentleman' was also setting off with the other thirty volunteers, who had joined his party, and still had another seventy-four in reserve - did they know something we didn't?
Old Wallace Shezwick was coming with us, but it slipped our minds to tell him.
Maude bounced a stone of my head and stated that I was: ‘just bogging rotten’ – but at least she could remove the peg from her nose in complete safety.
I must sign off now - But remember what the great Oscar Wilde said about gossip: "The only thing worse in the world than being talked about is not being talked about."
No. 4 OF 'A SKELETON'S LIFE SERIES:
 |
| "YES, I DO REQUESTS. BUT 'FUCK OFF' AIN'T ONE OF THEM ARSE-HOLE!" |
 |
| FORWARD TO EPISODE 5. "DEATH INVITES YOU TO A PARTY!" |
 |
| RETURN TO EPSIODE 3. "FINAL TIMES." |
 |
| "THE GHOST WRITER!" |